Furiously, she dashed his hands away. This door was crested with spikes, and guarded on the right by a bristling semicircle of spikes. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. "Is she dead?" "No—no," answered Hogarth. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side.
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